Almost
by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: It isn't until he's sitting behind her on a hospital bed, wincing when her small hands dig into his thighs with another contraction that he almost wishes that day in the kitchen, eight months ago, had been a dream. Almost. Pre-established Cobb/Ariadne


It must be a dream.

There's a jar of orange marmalade on the counter, dripping, left open, maybe from breakfast hours before. The patio door is open, the one she opens while she cooks dinner, so the kids can play outside and she can hear them. He hears the soft giggles, the muffled thud of a plastic shovel hitting sand, can practically see the sun spilling over both of them. The house is empty; still, silent, and time seems slower, somehow.

It must be a dream.

 _She_ hates orange marmalade. Oranges in general, really. The taste, the texture, even the smell nauseates her. So, it doesn't end up in the cart on their Sunday afternoon shopping trips. The kids prefer strawberry jam, she likes peach, and picks up a jar of his preferred raspberry. It's not something they have in the house. It shouldn't be there, dripping onto his counter. It's how he knows something is very off. How he knows it must be a dream - a totem, of sorts.

He's staring at the jar, when she walks through the door. Tiny and brunette and perfect, his little boy wrapped around one leg, and his daughter clinging to her other arm. They're sandy and laughing and she takes one look at him before ushering them upstairs to find the baby powder to get the sand off.

"Dom?" she tilts her head, confused, rightfully so. "Dom?"

"You hate orange marmalade." his voice is soft, broken, the same voice he uses when his mind is tricking him. When he's convinced that wherever he is, isn't real. Because, sometimes dreams and reality get mixed up in his head. His kids existed in both his dreams and in reality and she's in both. "Ariadne - she hates orange. The taste, the texture, even the smell, it makes her sick."

"I am Ariadne, Dom." she giggles a little; it's high and soft all at the same time.

"You're a projection."

"No, I'm real." she tugs the bishop from the pocket of her jeans, holding it up for him to watch it fall over in her palm, just as it should. "And, I can explain the orange marmalade." she reaches into her purse and pulls out a piece of glossy paper. She holds it up for him to see, the black and white ultrasound picture. "I'm very real and very pregnant."

"Pregnant?" Dom's a little slow - understandably so, he's a little off, today. Probably from too much work and too little sleep. And, the sex. That was a possibility, too. Actually, that was a definite, what with the tiny human now growing inside of her.

"Yes." she grins, dropping the picture into his palm. "I had a craving for that orange junk. I knew something was off."

His mind is still processing the news.

 _Wow._

Pregnant.

Ariadne is carrying his child. Phillipa and James are going to have a little brother or sister and while he wonders just how well they'll respond to the news, she is still expecting _his_ response. It thrills him, of course, and all he can think to do is scoop her up in a kiss, lifting her up off of the ground.

"Better?" Ariadne breathes, thumbing the long faded scar on his temple from an incident with Mal that he doesn't speak of other than to say it involved a flying vase. "Dream or reality?"

"This is reality. _You_ are reality." he looks between them at her still-flat stomach. "And, this little one."

"I thought we could order a pizza, tonight." Ariadne settles into his arms, locking her legs around his waist. "Tell James and Phillipa."

"Of course." Dom smiles, moving toward the counter to set her down. Not because she's heavy, but because he wants to kiss her without the risk of tripping over himself. "When did you find out?"

"Yesterday." she laughs. "I started craving orange and called my doctor."

"I thought I was dreaming." he admits quietly, dipping his face into the gentle curve of her neck. "When I saw it, I thought I was dreaming. You hate orange. It makes you sick and I thought... "

"Not a dream," Ariadne's quiet reassurance is what brings him back, every time. "Just an odd craving."

"I'm glad."

"When I'm bigger than a house and screaming at you because I'm in pain, you won't be saying that." she jokes, stroking his messy hair.

Dom just kisses her.

It isn't until he's sitting behind her on a hospital bed, wincing when her small hands dig into his thighs with another contraction that he almost wishes that day in the kitchen, eight months ago, had been a dream.

 _Almost._


End file.
